GREECE

I have made it to Greece!! I can't tell you how happy that makes me. On the ferry ride from Albania I left cloudy skies with the promise of beautiful beaches, clear water, and sun ahead. Greece is somewhere I have wanted to go for a while and it's exciting to actually be here.
Not only is there the excitement of being in Greece, but also there's a sense of completion. It's like I'm finishing the race, making it to my final destination. Greece definately has unknowns of its own, but after so many "unstable" countries to which people respond "you went there!?" I am relieved to be in a traditional tourist destination.
Speaking of tourists, I have to share a little misunderstanding that has made the island of Corfu where I'm at an adventure of its own. I booked a hostel for my stay here - I actually was proud of myself for this because many places I have just figured it out when I got there. I booked on-line where it was advertised as a bed and breakfast as well as a hostel - on the beach, breakfast AND dinner included, free Internet, AND free yoga every day. Sign me up.
On the ferry I pulled out my Greece guide book that has been safely tucked in the bottom of my pack until now to start reading up on Corfu and its beaches. Well low and behold my hostel is in there, only the description was not quite the same. It was described as party central with nights of drunken debauchery that would "make Dionysus proud" and are "not for the faint of liver." Ummm . . . Is this the same place?With slight confusion and trepidation I caught the bus to the other side of the island.
Well I was not disappointed. As I gathered my luggage off the curb where the bus dropped us, I heard yelling coming from in the lobby. For a minute I thought I had walked into an episode of MTV spring break. There were bikini clad college kids running around everywhere. At check in they offered me a complimentary welcome shot of ouzo and informed me of the toga party tonight - are you kidding? The whole time the question flashing through my mind was "what is this place and how did I end up here?" A whole new kind of out of place. But I have to say I rocked that pink toga for dinner.

Football (and by football I mean soccer)

Local sporting events are a great way to get a feel for a community. While in Albania I had the opportunity to go to a local football (soccer) match with a guy from the hostel I stayed at in Saranda. We caught the minibus and headed to the neighboring town.
The pitch was not the best I've seen (a mess of dirt with patches of grass) and quite frankly neither was the match. But then it's small town Albania - what do you expect?
We arrived as the spectators began to gather. That's when I noticed it . . . I was the only woman there. Even though I've been abroad now for almost 2 months, I still sometimes thinking like an American. It had not even occurred to me that there wouldn't be any other women, but there definitely were not. Once again I was ever so slightly out of place. I have developed quite a nack for it.
It was great though because there was that familiarity you always have with soccer games. Whether you're in the rural areas of Equador or Thailand, the major fields of Italy or Brazil, or the club fields out at Benbrook, TX you'll be able to find people playing soccer. The pitch may be made of grass, dirt, turf, clay, or concrete. The goal may be real or just marked by trees, hats or shoes. But there is that continuity about it that makes it one of the greatest sports, if for no other reason than its universality.
Spectators cheer, chant, and cuss with passion whether it's a game of 10 year olds or the World Cup. The match between teams of neighboring cities or towns will always be a grudge match. No matter what country you're in, soccer is one of those international languages that crosses bounds.

I Hate Snakes

Travel days never cease to be dramatic, and yesterday was no different. After I made the 7 am bus, I was on my way to Ulcinj to catch a bus crossing the border into Albania. Research in different books and websites had told me to "cross the border in the morning" because "public transport within Albania thins out as the afternoon goes on." When I got near the border, I found out that wasn't exactly accurate information.
In reality there is 1 bus across the border. That's it - 1. And it leaves at 6 am. Seriously? 6 am? At least give me a chance to catch it.
I ended up negotiating a ride with this guy driving across the border. He, his wife, and daughter were going shopping for a new dress for the daughter, and things are cheaper in Albania. So off the four of us went for an exciting ride of singing along to some awesome Montenegro pop hits.
Crossing the border went smoothly, and they dropped me in Shkodra where I hopped on a minibus headed to Tirana (the capital and my goal for the day). Apparently 90% of Albania's roads are under construction so it was quite a jaw-rattling ride. I even got air several times as we plowed through pot holes.
When we finally made it unscathed to Tirana, the driver dropped me off and pointed me toward the city center as he drove off. Loaded up with all my bags I set off across town just as the rain started. (It was kind of ironic after my morning experience. The Lord and I had a good laugh at His sense of humor.)
30 minutes later and soaking wet, I arrived at the hostel to find that it was actually closed. No, I'm not kidding.
Luckily I had a second hostel looked up so I gave myself a little pep talk (I think I mentioned before that one of the downfalls of traveling alone is that there's no one to take over if you have a breakdown so you don't get that luxury) and set off across town in the other direction.
Another twenty minutes put me and all my now wet (despite all my best efforts) bags at the other hostel. The reception guy laughed when he saw my drowned rat appearance but welcomed me in.
I dropped my bags and went to make a cup of hot chocolate and email parents of my safe arrival before I hit the shower and got changed. While on the computer I decided to see if anyone had a fun facebook post because I needed a pick-me-up. I found this: (sorry, I cannot get it to link so you'll have to copy/paste)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uqg3Pg2M9WU

Yeah. If you know me, you know I jumped. Big. And the hot chocolate that I was sipping on went all down my shirt and in my lap. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. So now soaking wet AND covered in hot chocolate I went upstairs to take a shower deciding that I had had enough of that day. I hate snakes, and I hate that I jump and scary things.

Our God who holds back the Rain

The first thing I notice when I woke up this morning was that it was not raining. That is very good news when a long day of travel starting with a 20 minute walk to the bus station awaits you. Clock check: 0510. My internal clocknow knows when it's a travel day and tends to wake me up early. Since I didn't need to be up till 0600, I decided to snooze in bed.
While I was laying in bed, I heard it - the pitter patter of rain drops on the tile roof.
Clock check: 0558. Times flies when you're snoozing. I decided I may as well get up and get ready, hoping the rain would let up. It didn't. Inf
fact it kept on steadily until it began to get heavier. I packed and brushed my teeth. Then there was thunder. Oh joy.
Clock check: 0625. Well hmmm . . . Maybe wait and take a later bus, see if it'll stop? Just as I was thinking this, I thought of the God that I serve. He is bigger than any storm and has faithfully been with me through this whole trip. I began to pray that He would stop the rain as I finished getting ready and packing up.
Window check: definately an all out downpour. Clock check: 0647. Not giving up yet, I continued to pray while I bagged everything up: camera in it's case in a grocery bag, bag over the backpack, bag over the front pack, purse over the shoulder and tied up in a bag. You get the idea. I looked like the homeless bag lady.
It was still raining as I got ready to head out. I looked longingly at the umbrella by the door but decided that stealing was not the answer. If I'm going to step out in faith, I actually have to take the step.
And so I did, right out into the rainy courtyard. But as I passed out into the street, the rain stopped. I kid you not. There was a spattering of rain every now and then and a wind that tried to blow me away. For the most part though, my bags and I arrived dry and intact. Bought my ticket and stood under the terminal covering to wait for the bus as the deluge started up again. I thought to myself, how great is our God to can call forth the rain and hold it back.

Death by Billy Goat Headbutt

Doug and I parted ways this morning as I headed down south into Montenegro. I am in Kotor Bay where the water cuts inland quite a bit. When I arrived, it was actually sunny (thank you for prayers) so I dropped my bags and headed out to explore.
I hiked up to the fortress above the old city and to the ridge line behind it. Everything was lush and green from the rain, with a lovely old stone and grass path most of the way like what I imagine in Ireland.
The trip up was serene as I ascended out of the city, away from the noise. I even saw some mountain goats up on a hillside. I thought it was so quaint . . . at the time.
From the top I could see across the bay (which is more like a fjord cut back into the mountains) over the mountains on the other side and out to the sea. Stunning!
I had a wonderful quiet time and watched the sun sink into the horizon before it was time to head down. That was when the excitement started.
As I switch backed my way down, one bend in the path put me almost face to face with the mountain goats, no longer way off on the hillside. And now there were like 30 of them spread along the trail, above and below. We eyed each other for a while and then the ones near me began to stand up. At this point my brain was filing through all the animal responses I know -- look big, look small, fight back, back away, kick them in the nose, use a stern voice -- and finally registered that I do not know the appropriate response to goats.
Unsure as to whether or not they were tame (no bells or markings), I decided to try to slowly make my way around them. Only problem with that is it meant getting off the trail, and well . . . I'm not a mountain goat so that posed it's own problem.
Then I noticed the female and small goats gathering behind the billy goats, with their rather large horns. I thought to myself, "Of all the things I've done in my life, this is not how I would plan to go out." I could just picture the headlines "Death by Billy Goat Head Butt." Fabulous.
I decided to try to make shepherd noises, whatever those are. Definately did not work. I later realized it was probably because I was making the "tut tut" noise. I have obviously been around too many camels on this trip.
So as I normally do when all else fails, I started to sing -- if not for them, then at least to calm my . . . well, I wouldn't say fear. Maybe just slight trepidation. And anyway, music calms the savage beast, right? As these were OBVIOUSLY savage goats.
I'm not sure if they were soothed or just trying to get away because it sounded that bad, but eventually they started to move and the stand-off was over. No head butts today.
The next few days will be travel down through Montenegro and Albania as I head to Greece. This is a less touristy part of the world and English is not as common. Pray that border crossings will go smoothly, buses will be on time and that I will be able to communicate with drivers as I'm not sure the exact route. Should be an adventure.

A War Torn Land

The past few days Doug and I have taken a slight detour up to Bosnia/Herzegovina (BH). I did not mention this before we went (sorry Mom) because I didn't want to cause any undue worry.
That said, it was a sobering experience. It sets quite the tone for your stay when the FAQs on the door at your hostel include information about landmines. Apparently they think approximately 4% of BH still has landmines. Most of these areas have been found and clearly marked somehow, but they advise you not to go off trails or roads. Don't go exploring. Got it.
We stayed in a little town named Mostar. It was hit very hard during the war -- first attacked by Serbian forces who pulled out after intervention by the international community. The city was then left under defense of the allied Bosnian and Croatian armies. Unfortunately fighting soon broke out between these formerly allied troops and even more blood was shed.
Unlike other areas that were also affected by the war (such as Dubrovnik), in Mostar they have not rebuilt due to continuing hostility and lack of funds. This makes for a very interesting landscape. Several of the buildings are falling down and have bullet holes all over.



We visited this bank that was bombed during the war so badly that it was abandoned. Once abandoned, it became a sniper nest because it was one of the tallest buildings in the area.


You go in, and the building is just totally destroyed.






The ground is covered in rubble, mostly glass and bullet shells.



It was like in a movie where the offices are abandoned with papers strewn all over the ground.



When I try to understand what really happened here and what is still going on, I get lost in the complexities of Bosnians, Serbs, Croats, Muslims, Orthodox, and Catholics. More than anything, I become aware of just how much I don't know about what goes on in the world. And although I may not yet understand the root of this hostility that is centuries old, places that have previously been only headlines to me are now becoming real. That at least is a step in the right direction.

Americans and their Bright T-shirts

I've read through several books during the trip. One was The Kite Runner, a great book. I cried all the way through. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, except that I read it during a bus trip. On a public bus. Yeah.
It wasn't just a few tears, but the kind of crying where your nose starts running and you need a tissue. I looked pathetic. But that is beside the point.
In the book, the main character mentions that while he was growing up, he could always tell the American tourists because of their bright t-shirts. This struck me as an odd comment so I started to watch. Upon further examination I realized that it's true.
This morning was was a perfect example. As we got dressed at the hostel, every other girl in my room changed into their almost all black outfits while I chose which of my brightly colored t-shirts I would wear today.
It didn't matter too much because it is now freezing (well, not quite but it's cold and raining which feels freezing) so my bright t-shirt was under layers of fleece and rain jacket. But nevertheless all you have to do is go into your local Gap or Old Navy to see that we do like our bright colors and patterns.
I do not yet understand why this is (if you have any ideas please share), but I have excepted it: I am an American. I like brightly colored clothes.
It ranks right up there with: I am an American. I like cold beverages (that means more than a lone piece of ice). But that is another story.
By the way, please pray that the cold and rain will leave me alone for a little while. I need a few more sunny days as I head down to the beautiful beaches in Greece. Just 3 weeks left from tomorrow!

The Chestnut Festival

One of the great things about exploring new places is experiencing the quirky things that give each place its own distinct personality. Several days ago Doug and I went to the local 35th annual chestnut festival in northern Croatia. You don't get much more quirky than the little local festivals, especially when it is celebrating a nut.
Apparently the area is known for having large chestnuts (no, I'm not kidding), and they celebrate it during harvest time every year. And may I say, it was quite the party.
There were of course roasted chestnuts galore.


I learned that although I appreciate the smell of roasted chestnuts when I'm walking by them on the street, I do not like to eat them. They are difficult and messy to peel and have a very weird texture.


Still, the cute guys with their mannies kept offering them to me, trying to convince me I would like them.


Not only that, but there was a wide variety of desserts all in . . . you guessed it, chestnut flavor. The taste was interesting.


There was local music, which apparently includes some very cool accordion music. Let me tell you, these guys were rocking out.



To complete the festival atmosphere there were even balloon-making clowns. Don't worry, I resisted the urge to get a hat made, but it as tempting.




Happy Chestnut Festival!

Frogger

For some reason, walking through town and crossing streets this morning made me think of the different traffic conditions I've seen throughout this trip.

Egypt was by far the most insane. No question. They actually don't even paint lanes on the street because it would be that useless. There is no order; they just cut through where ever possible and make a new lane. I don't know how to describe to you the utter chaos except to tell you to picture the worst you have ever seen and double it. You think I'm kidding, but I've been to Bangkok where I had to shut my eyes through taxi rides so I wouldn't panic. Bangkok has nothing on Cairo.

The most terrifying street crossing experience was definitely in Cairo. I had to cross this major street. There are obviously no pedestrian crossing zones, and because it's a turnabout, there are no lights and cars never stop. Unfortunately it was high traffic time, but I had to cross. It was one of the few times during this trip I thought I might actually die. The old game "Frogger" came to mind as I held my breath and literally ran, stop, ran, stop, ran across the street.

But that was at the beginning of the trip. My greatest street crossing achievement was in Syria. My timing skills had improved so much by that point that I actually crossed an 8 lane road hardly having to pause between cars. I was proud of myself, but this was nothing compared to the local who went in front of me and did it without ever looking up from his cell phone.

It's funny because now in Croatia, I actually have to make myself stop and wait for the crossing light to change. If you go when it's not your "turn" everyone looks at you like you're crazy. It's strange feeling when you get so used to chaos that order catches you off guard.

The City within the Walls

The past few days Doug and I have landed in Dubrovnik, Croatia. This one of the southern most cities in Croatia and a very popular tourist destination on the coast. Even though the weather is not as warm as we would like and we've had a little rain, it has been beautiful.
The great thing though is not only the beautiful beaches with crystal clear waters that we spent an afternoon at, but the city itself. The walls around the city were built back in the 16th century. The fort up on the hill was turned into a disco in the 1970s -- how funny is that?!
But all this changed just a few decades ago. Yugoslavian forces laid siege on Dubrovnik in 1991 after Croatia declared its independence. One more time, all the city walls and the forts that had not served a military purpose in hundreds of years were once again called on to hold firm and protect the city's inhabitants. And they did!
If you have ever visited Europe or any area with an old fort or ancient city walls, imagine them once again being put to use. No longer just a place for pictures and tours, they had to come to life again -- if these walls could talk . . .


Here are some pictures of the city.

Which way do I go?

As I mentioned previously, Doug and I rented a car, and Doug is doing the driving. This makes me map girl and navigator by default.
I am not completely useless with maps, but I would never go so far as to say that I'm GOOD with them. However I like to think that I make up for the deficiency in my map reading skills with my sign spotting skills. This is often half the battle.
We got our car and drove down to the coast a few days ago. Highway navigation went relatively smoothly, and found a new appreciation for turnabouts. Sometimes it is very nice to be able to just drive in a circle for a few minutes while you decipher signs and figure out which turn off it is that you actually want.
Things became slightly more hairy when we got to town. Roads are notoriously curvy and seem to change names every other block. These names are posted subtly on the sides of buildings. The upside to this is that there's minimal sign congestion on road ways -- lovely. The downside is that I'm constantly asking, "What street IS this?!"
It does not help that we managed to buy the biggest map EVER. Notice in the picture below that it is actually larger than the hood of the car, thus wider than my arm span. Imagine trying to refold that thing in the car without blocking Doug's view while he drives . . . yeah, it doesn't work. A few times, I have ended up with the thing folded up over my head so I can get to where the small city map is on the other side. It's quite a sight.



The roads also have a way of down-sizing quickly from a main road to an alleyway. Doug though is a superb driver (minus one small hillside incident) and manages to scrape by, figuratively speaking of course.

Plitvička jezera

Croatia, we are finding is a very diverse land with beaches and rocky cliffs as well as rolling mountains with beautifully changing fall leaves. We went to Plitvička jezera National Park where the karst river system that runs through the valley has deposited minerals that formed porous rock barriers (tufas). This eventually became natural dams so the rivers became a terraced series of lakes with waterfalls between each. It was quite impressive to see with awesome fall leaves changing colors around. Here are a few pics:

Long Lost Family

Yesterday Doug and I went to Novi Vinodolski, Croatia. This is where our family and weird last name come from.
We got to meet and stay with some distant cousins and hear what life is like for them. It was awesome to see the house that was in our family for some 400 yrs and see the community where our family is from.

Here are just a few pics of Novi and the family:







The old Segulja house

The Manny

I would like to take this opportunity to introduce a new fashion craze sweeping Europe and soon to head across the Atlantic to America. . . the Manny Pack.
What is this? You may well ask. Let me enlighten you. The manny is what we would know as the good old fanny pack. Only it has returned with style. Men everywhere are wearing sleek, leather, name-brand manny packs. The most popular being the white leather Lacoste version. It can be worn in front, in back, or even on the side for those truly stylish men.
It is worn by men of all ages here. Fathers out with their kids. Young husbands out with wives. Teens. It's everywhere. Now men in Europe have a handy place to keep keys, wallets, phones, etc.
Why? You may ask. There are many theories as to where this trend started. The most probable answer that I can come up with is that the trend started soon after the tight jeans that are so popular here as well. When men wear the tight jeans, there simply isn't room in their pockets for the necessities. It most likely started there and then caught like wildfire.
It is only a matter of time until all the men in Texas are walking around with their cowboy hats, boots, and mannies . . . or maybe not.

Here are just a few Manny sightings:

To the Motherland

Yesterday was a very long travel day from Selcuk, Turkey to Zagreb, Croatia. It consisted of 2 train rides, 2 plane rides with various shuttles and public transportation in between.
I have decided that what makes travel days so exhausting is the roller coaster of ups and downs. Joy when you complete each leg of the journey and anxiety over making the next. There were delayed planes, changed flights and airports, border officials waking me up on the train to check documents.
The final section of the journey was arriving in Belgrade, Serbia, getting through customs, finding transportation into town and catching the night train to Zagreb, Croatia. I wasn't sure what time the train left. As I sat on the shuttle waiting for it to actually get on it's way, I was sure I'd miss the train. Turns out I made it to the train station 7 minutes before the train left. I changed money, bought my ticket, got on the train and found a seat as the train pulled out. Whew, a little close.
Now I am in the motherland -- Croatia. (my Dad's family is from Croatia -- we have a geneology website and everything) It's awesome! Everyone looks like me! In fact, a few people have come up to me speaking Croatian because they thought I was a local!! Can you believe it!?
My cousin Doug arrived yesterday, and we'll travel together for the next 2 weeks. Not sure exactly what the plans are but we're renting a care tomorrow so it'll be a great adventure. And don't worry, Doug is going to do the driving.

Gotta Love the Locals

Today I had several minibus rides navigating through the small towns on the western coast of Turkey to get to the beach. I was surprisingly successful but have to share with you this one little experience. During one ride the lady sitting right behind me got into an argument with a guy a few rows ahead. I think it was about politics because as she stood leaning over my shoulder, she was waving a newspaper and pointing at it.
It got pretty heated. A few times I was afraid I might get whacked in the head. Then she got up and started pacing in the aisle. It was quite impressive to see her hands waving and hear her tisking away in disagreement when he tried to disagree.
Eventually she settled a little and went back to her seat. I thought we were finished but then the driver chimed in something and off we went again.
About 15 minutes into this a young lady got on and looked back at me with the woman leaning over my shoulder again. I gave her a helpless look as I tried not to burst out laughing. She sat down with eyebrows raised, shaking her head.
This continued on until we reached the woman's stop. The man raised both hands in a surrender/agree to disagree movement. The woman got off, still muttering under her breath.
Even though I felt a little awkward being stuck in the middle of that while I tried to avoid eye contact with the angry man staring back in my direction, I also kind of enjoyed it. You see for a month I've been in the middle east where women are submissive and seen, not heard. So it was kind of nice to see a stout old Turkish woman not afraid to give a man a piece of her mind. Get 'em lady.

Picture Update

I found a computer that can actually upload pictures at a rate faster than 1 picture per 10 minutes. YAY! So here's some more pics from the trip so far.



View from Mt. Sinai



The sunset from the top of Mt Sinai.



My friend Anna hiking up the sand dune in Wadi Rum.



Sunset in Wadi Rum



Floating in the Dead Sea. Look! No hands!



Dead Sea Mud



Gowned up to visit the mosques.



The most popular "ice cream" shop in Damascus. I had to elbow my way in. Then I tasted some and realized that it wasn't really ice cream, but white cold stuff. (see post below)



No I didn't get married, but I did see a Syrian wedding. They were surprisingly seranaded by the singing groomsmen and bagpipes (apparently a local instrument)



Me out of the window of my new home if I accept the marriage offer in Krak des Chevaliers.



The evening glow in Palmyra, Syria